Winter Commute

Credit: Author

Inspired by “Not Your Fault” by Legends of Et Cetera

Another frost ridden winter day.
The cream disc in the sky a lidless pockmarked eye,
Presiding over a sky of cooling blue steel
and faded pink separated 
by a strip of not quite yellow nor orange nor tan, 
The colors bouncing off the remnants of last week's winter storms.

Caught between two beautiful states,
its ugly indecision dispelling the majesty 
of the few hours of daylight we’re lucky to see in this miserable time of year
which falls between the revelry of starting anew,
And the world’s symbolic and actual rebirth.

The lights of stately homes creating a cozy, pastoral picture,
If not for the browning greenery
covered by a patchy blanket of ivory
stained by civilization and pockmarked by footsteps and riddled with holes
left by the little warmth and light
Which grace the world in this cruelest and coldest month,
While darkness falls over a world of golden, shimmering towers,
Laid out next to a kaleidoscope sign by the highway,
Dominating the attention of every traveler for a moment or two.

Amidst traffic-choked arteries flowing in unsteady rhythm dictated by colored lights,
The rat race slowing to a crawl,
giving time for hazy, unfocused glances at empty storefronts,
Signs still lit up to craft the illusion there are businesses left to patronize,
Though there are only ghosts standing behind the registers.

Prosaic suburbia so bright it washes out the stars,
Charm ameliorated only by the majesties of winter’s trappings,
Which are now ragged and threadbare themselves,
Washing away into ugly, soot-stained annoyances,
And treacherous patches on every banal pathway.

Every flag flies at half mast, 
As though to lament the calamities running round my head,
Discounting their far greater reason and purpose. 
Universal lamentations often feel so personal.